


Pumpkin

by starthief



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding Kink, Halloween, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Size Kink, Weight Gain, chubby!bucky, trickortreatyourself2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: Bucky had ended the relationship a while back because he wanted to “discover himself”. Steve had known it was bullshit and thought that all the discovering he’d ever needed to do, he’d found in Bucky, but he loved the guy and he wasn’t going to make him stay. If Bucky wanted to get away from Steve and find out who he was in the twenty first century, fine. Now Bucky calls Steve up again because he’s pretty solid in who he is now, and he was in town. Neither of them knew that the other had changed quite a bit, however.





	1. October 21

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zacharypay1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zacharypay1).



It had been nine months and twenty-three days since Steve had heard that voice.

Not like he was counting, of course.

He’d seen other people… Sharon, she was nice, mostly because she’s stayed with him through… through the Incident, as he’d named it in his mind. But ultimately, he had to let Sharon go. He’d looked into her grey-blue eyes and seen Bucky’s looking out, and that hadn’t been right. (And he could only cry out “Bucky!” so many times during sex without having her think he was cheating.)

So it was with only a small amount of shock (a small amount of shock that he agreed; it had been with a large amount of shock that he discovered that Bucky actually called) that he found himself agreeing to see the brunet again, just to talk things over, no pressure.

He terminated the call and dropped his iPhone onto the bed beside him, staring into the mirror with an expression of horror.

How the hell was he going to explain this??

 

\--

Bucky smiled to himself, relieved. He was almost afraid that Steve wouldn’t agree. He didn’t really know what he wanted to say tomorrow, really… he didn’t want to choke out some half-assed excuse about breaking up, but just maybe they could avoid talking about that.

He got out of bed and stretched his arms. It felt good to be back in DC… back home. India had been wonderful, and fascinating; full of life and colour and a culture so rich that by the time Bucky’d been acclimated to it, he was ready to come back.

He was glad that they agreed to meet up that night. It would give him less time to freak out about it, or to second-guess himself. Hell, the time that the brunet had actually had the courage to let the phone dial out Steve’s number without hanging up had been the seventh try.

He stepped out of his sweatpants and rummaged around in his suitcase for a fresh pair of jeans. He was still mostly unpacked, and living in a hotel… before India he’d been living with Steve, and moving back to DC had meant that no home was waiting for him. He didn’t mind, really, but it made him feel jumpy, knowing that his residence there was so temporary. It reminded him too much of living on the run, and along with that came a myriad of other supressed memories that he’d rather not bring up.

He found a comfortable pair of black jeans and pulled them on over his legs, frowning a little as they refused to button. Damn hotel wash. He’d done a load of laundry first thing when he crashed at the hotel last night. He didn’t want to introduce the States to any of India’s bugs.

He sucked in, willing the two sides to meet in vain. He cursed and stepped back out of the jeans, pulling his sweatpants on and throwing on a shirt, looking mostly presentable. He might as well go shopping for new clothes if he was going to look good for tonight’s date, anyway.

 

\--

Steve nervously cracked his knuckles, bouncing on his heels a little.

“Stop fiddling,” Natasha commanded irritably.

“Sorry, I just… what do you think he’ll say?”

She sighed. “Bucky might’ve been impulsive and unpredictable, but he was never cruel. He’ll be shocked, but polite.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t want _polite_. I want…” he realised he had no idea what he did want.

Nat pulled out a grey-wool knit sweater from the rack, with a clever chunky knit pattern on the front that feigned some sort of V-shape to conceal his considerable lack of one. “There. Try that on.”

Steve walked over to the adjacent fitting room and pulled it on over his cotton t-shirt, pursing his lips at his reflection. “Do they have it in another size?”

 

\--

Bucky was excited that the chill weather on a continent that actually _had_ an Autumn. Walking into a nearby department store, he found a display of lovely sweaters for the occasion. One particular grey one with a chunky V-shape pattern down the front caught his eye. He got it a few sizes too big (because he _adored_ oversized sweaters), but in the changing room it fit snugly. He shrugged, because he must be used to the Indian sizing charts. After picking out the rest of his ensemble (navy blue button-up, acid-washed corduroy jeans, and a long red scarf, because all of his real winter clothing had found its way out of his wardrobe months ago), he stopped by Starbucks and ordered a pumpkin spice latte.

Because it’s fucking America, and the ex-soldier has a real soft spot for pumpkin spice lattes.

He passed the department store again on the way back to his hotel, and inside over some of the coatracks, he caught a glimpse of blond hair and thought of Steve. It probably wasn’t Steve, seeing as the person it belonged to was about two feet too short, and he couldn’t see anything else of the person to further the resemblance. It was probably just being in DC again and expecting Steve to be there, so naturally a part of the scenery he could’ve been a tourist attraction all on his own.

And with that ironic thought, Bucky decided to swing by the ol’ Smithsonian Captain America Exhibit to spend the rest of his afternoon before that night.

 

\--

Steve was practically vibrating with anxious energy.

“Relax,” Nat said firmly, putting a hand on his thigh. He forced himself to not move so much. “You look like you’re going to launch,” she muttered.

Steve let out a small laugh that was disrupted by the bus unexpected halt. He nearly fell into the seat in front of him, but Nat quickly steadied him. “Your stop,” she reminded him with a smooth to his cheek. “And don’t sweat it. Really,” she called as he rose from the seat and exited the bus.

He stood before the Chinese restaurant they always went to. He took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists. Sock Hitler on the jaw? No problem. Talk to Bucky again?

Although, he thought with a wry smile, the first might be just as difficult now.

He looked down at the watch on his wrist. The clock had slid down to the underside, as loose as it was, and he grimaced and pulled it back over. 6:15. He was still early, but that was okay. It would give him some time to prepare.

He wrapped a hand around the familiar gilded handle of the door and pulled it open, making his way to the corner table that they always sat at.

As those grey eyes hidden under a few strands of chestnut hair captivated his own, he realised that he wouldn’t get that time to prepare.

 

\--

Bucky immediately rose before his better judgement could stop him, and swept Steve into a long-anticipated embrace. He was instantly relieved when the other’s arms returned the hug, wrapping around his chest. He was so pleased that at least some of the conflicting feelings he was feeling were mutual; so grateful to just be there breathing in Steve’s scent and not knowing how much he’d missed holding him until now. Or, rather, hadn’t allowed himself to miss. He’d been putting off everything having to do with the complications of their relationship in the three seasons they’d been apart. Now it all came rushing back, how much he really loved Steve. And maybe the break was all they needed. Maybe they’d really be okay—he knew that in the blond’s mind, everything had been okay, and Bucky needed some time to himself, and he didn’t have the heart to tell Steve it was more than that. But just for now, he told himself to push away those fears and turmoil away for a little longer, and enjoy the feeling of returning home, returning to DC, returning to Steve’s arms, a place they both fit better than they did in their own skin.

He was so ecstatic for a moment that he didn’t realise that the blond’s head barely came up to his chin.

They broke away from the hug, Bucky’s hands still on Steve’s (smaller, bonier) shoulders, and he searched the other’s eyes, hoping that the question he was forcing himself not to scream out wasn’t stamped on his face. “Steve,” he breathed, which he hopes might somehow convey all the longing, all the apologies, all the questions he has all at once, because he didn’t know how to properly express all those things to someone that you haven’t seen in almost a year.

“Bucky,” Steve responded with a genuine smile, his voice the same, his goddamn sexy voice that Bucky loved always the same, on the phone and back in 1940 and one year ago. And why should his voice have changed too, Bucky asked himself, but wasn’t that fair to wonder? Wasn’t it perfectly fucking fair for him to have so many questions? “It’s good to see you again.”

They sat down, facing each other in the booth. Steve fiddled with the salt shaker on the table, and Bucky tried not to stare. What the fuck should he say? Should he pretend that he didn’t notice anything?

The salt abruptly clattered, making its landing from the spin Steve had sent it on. Bucky’s eyes snapped away from Steve’s face, and he reached out a shaky hand and righted the shaker.

Steve chuckled a little, and held Bucky’s hand, getting his attention again (and his hands, his fucking hands are so small now, fingers still long as ever, just so small). “It’s okay, Buck. Let’s get the elephant out of the room.”

The brunet hoped that he wasn’t too visibly relieved. “Heh… I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t… ah, didn’t know what to say, I mean, what’s p-polite, or… not polite, fuck…”

Steve gave another one of those small smiles that could reach out and right all the messes inside of Bucky’s head like salt on a table. “I know what you mean. I wouldn’t know what to say either. So just… ask away.”

Bucky opened his mouth, like Steve’s permission was the code on a dam he would unleash upon the blond, but was interrupted before he could begin by a pretty Asian waitress. “Good evening, gentleman, and welcome to the Asia Nine. May I take your order?”

 

\--

Fuck, Bucky had gotten soft.

And he seemed completely unaware of that, which almost made it even better. Although that was a little overshadowed at the moment by Steve’s… weight loss. Steve was trying not to stare (not in an impolite or judgemental way, heavens no, just because he wanted his eyes to memorise every new curve and fold so that later when he went home he could sketch Bucky), but the brunet had no such inhibitions, shamelessly gaping at the other’s five-foot-four and ninety-five pounds (if he was wearing clothes) body.

Steve imagined for a brief moment how hot it would be for them to cuddle, watching an old movie on his couch, one they’d missed the first time round and pretend it was the twentieth century without all the war. Bucky’s cushy arms would be around Steve, a bowl of popcorn sitting in the blond’s lap for both of them to nibble on while they watched, but of course it was mainly Bucky’s arm that crept down to the bowl. They’d both be wearing comfortable sweaters (and it wasn’t without certain irony that Steve saw how Bucky was wearing the sweater that Nat had picked out for him in the store, the one they’d only had bigger sizes of), maybe the sleeves of the one Steve was wearing would be too long for his arms, maybe Bucky’d be leaning back with his soft new gut forming a shape under the hang of his sweater.

Then the waitress appeared before Steve could get too carried away with his daydream to take their orders. Steve—a creature of habit—ordered the same thing he had every single time they went to Asia Nine: sweet and sour chicken, eggroll, and white rice. He also ordered oolong tea for both of them, and fried noodles to munch on whilst they waited. The waitress jotted everything down, and turned to Bucky, who took a deep breath.

“I’ll have the emperor’s chicken, wonton soup, eggroll, white rice, and the plum sauce with tortillas.”

The waitress nodded and left for the kitchen, disappearing behind a swinging door with a heron painted on it.

Steve turned his eyes back to Bucky to see him already looking at him with the same expression he had been. He cleared his throat. “So…”

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I um… ask?”

“It’s okay,” the blond said, sighing. “I don’t really mind that much. I mean, I know pretty much anyone would have liked to look like I did, but I didn’t really mind the way I looked before the project. Sure, I was sick all the time, and I had some trouble with girls…” he’d learned through many discussions with Natasha that _girls_ didn’t like being called _dames._ Or broads. “But… you were really all I wanted,” he said, slowly looking up. He hadn’t meant to make eye contact after he said that. He didn’t want to sound too hopeful or desperate. He saw an expression on Bucky’s face that bemused him, one of guilt. Did Bucky feel guilty that he left him? “So,” he said quickly, clearing his throat and continuing. “It has its benefits looking like this again now. I can get the medical I need, and no one recognises me, so paparazzi isn’t a problem. And Sam makes a great Captain America.”

 

\--

Bucky nodded. He believed Steve, in a way. He did seem somehow more at home in his smaller body. The news of Sam Wilson becoming Cap hadn’t reached him… but not much had, all the way in India. He supposed he’d been running away from the Winter Solider, but fortunately there’d been people there who helped him learn that you can’t outrun yourself.

The real reason Bucky left Steve was that he thought the blond only wanted a relationship because he felt bad for the brunet, and wanted to take care of him. Bucky remembered a lifetime ago when that he would take care of the small asthmatic, making sure he didn’t get into fights, helping him breathe during an attack, keeping his frail body warm in the winter. He’d known that Steve felt that he had to repay him when he took care of him while some of the effects of being the Winter Soldier still lingered, but he hadn’t wanted Steve to have to live like that. He’d known that for him, 1943 was yesterday. Bucky had lived all those years, and he remembered them all. Steve hadn’t really lived. He couldn’t, when he was young; he’d been too sick. Then when he was Captain America, he had too many responsibilities. Bucky broke up with him because he wanted Stevie to find real love. He believed that there was someone out there that was better for Steve than him. Sharon Carter, maybe. Some beautiful blonde who didn’t have panic attacks any time someone said “longing” or when an airplane flew overhead, someone who could treat Stevie right, like he needed.

Bucky didn’t know if he could take care of him. He wanted to, so very badly, but whose health was he putting at risk? His own mental health if he refused to adapt? Steve’s physical health if Bucky was too busy relapsing?

He cleared his mind of these terrible thoughts and realised Steve was waiting for him to ask his questions, so he asked the only one that he could think of, the one question that sort of summed everything up. “What happened?”

The waitress came back and laid a shallow bowl full of fried noodles on the table between them. Steve picked up duck sauce, sprinkling it over his own side and dousing Bucky’s. “Well, back in early March… I think it was March 2nd… I woke up and I was two feet shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. I freaked out and immediately called Bruce, and took a bus up to Stark tower. He ran tests on me, and apparently the serum had run out of my system. It was probably the effect of several events happening all at once, sort of unavoidable, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “So… uh… no side effects?”

Steve looked down at his hands. “If you mean besides asthma, sinusitis, high blood pressure, palpitation, and a family history of heart failure and diabetes, then no. I’m completely back to normal. All my super… whatever is gone. I’m just a normal guy now.”

Bucky decided to ask another question, perhaps too personal, but Steve had said to ask anything. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Steve shook his head. “I was seeing Sharon for a while, from the later winter up until mid-spring, but… ah, it wasn’t working out.”

“What do you do?”

“I volunteer at a few retirement homes around. Some real sweet people there. None from… you know.” The war. “But plenty of old people to talk about the golden age with, and all that.” The waitress appeared again with another by her side to help her carry out the many dishes they’d ordered. Once they’d left, Steve asked Bucky a question. “So… where did you go?”

Bucky’d already started in on his wonton soup, and he paused for a moment, dumpling skewered through by one of the chopsticks. Bucky never had gotten the hang of those, but fortunately in India they ate with one hand. “India. One place I’d never really been while being the Winter Soldier.” So no painful memories had been attached, and more importantly, hardly anyone had heard of him. “I volunteered there a lot—building houses and stuff.”

“And when did you give up smoking?”

Shit, Steve didn’t miss anything. Bucky realised that the section they were sitting in was the smoking area, one of the main reasons why they sat there (the other being that the corner booth provided some sense of privacy), and if he hadn’t quit, he probably would have lit up by now. “Uh, quickly after I moved. It was just a nervous habit when I started, and I figured that it was a good chance to give it up.”

Steve nodded amiably, spreading the sauce over his chicken. For the rest of dinner, they chatted comfortably, if a tad awkward. Steve asked more personal questions that made Bucky not feel so bad about the things that he wanted to know. Neither of them mentioned the relationship all evening, and by the end of dinner, Bucky almost felt as if they’d gone back in time to when they were just friends, and there wasn’t any guilt or obligations. Bucky knew it was cruel to tease Steve with the promise of something. Bucky didn’t want to jump back into dating too soon, and he wondered if there was a strange level in between strangers and friends that was reserved specially for reconciled exes.

When the waitress came and asked them if they’d need anything else, Bucky had finished all of his food, but Steve asked for a box for the rest of his sweet and sour chicken and rice. “Uh, Buck, do you want this?” he asked. “I know you love sweet and sour, and I don’t really…”

“Don’t like leftovers. Right. Uh, sure.” Normally, whenever they went out together, any leftovers that found their way back to their apartment would be finished by Bucky, or the brunet would just have to throw them away weeks later.

He took the box from Steve and stood, paying for dinner.

“We could split it, Buck,” Steve started.

“Nah. My idea, my treat.” Bucky gave him a warm smile. “Thanks… for agreeing to this.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I’m… I’m glad I did.” He stuck his bony hand out to shake Bucky’s, but Bucky pulled him in for a hug. “I’ll text you, maybe?”

“’Course.” Bucky gave one last little wave and got an Uber back to his apartment. Steve’s leftovers did not survive the trip.


	2. October 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve locks himself out of his building and Bucky comes to his rescue. Steve gives him a big thanks in return ;) ;) ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter might be triggering to anyone who’s quit cigarettes, because it contains a few descriptions of Bucky getting over the addiction.   
> Also: porn ahead.

_Dobroye utro, Soldat._

_The soldier gets his new target for the day. He’s hungry. Starving. The handlers promise him food after he’s completed his mission._

_They give him the folder with the target. The target looks familiar, but he can’t place where. When he tries to ask, the handlers break one of his ribs. They tell him never to question their authority._

_The soldier tries to remember the target’s name. He hears the handlers telling him that the target is weak now, that he’ll be easy to break, not like before. That this time he must not hesitate. He failed them once before, but he can earn back their trust by killing the target now._

_Then he remembers. Then he understands._

_Steve._

_He is helpless to do anything against what the handlers have instructed him._

_“Bucky. You’re my friend.”_

_The soldier does not know this “Bucky” the target speaks of. He does not know this word “friend”._

_It is the last word the target ever says._

_\--_

Bucky’s eyes shot wide open, and his metal hand lashed out ten times more quickly than his organic one to catch the frame of the bed, saving himself from falling over the edge.

He sat up slowly and tried to focus on his breathing, repeated “My name is Bucky” a few times over. His fingers shook and he pulled open the little drawer of the nightstand.

“Fuck,” he swore at its emptiness, because, of course, no cigarettes. Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to quit?

He grunted and got out of bed, crankily making his way over to the kitchen to get his hands on the only other thing that could calm him down. He began fixing himself a generous four-egg omelette with bacon, and while he was waiting for it to be ready to flip, he rooted through the cabinets and found cinnamon pop tarts.

After breakfast, his nerves still felt jumpy, and he was missing the bitter smoke filling his mouth, the feeling of the small paper instrument between his fingers. He threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave, and watched the FRIENDS Halloween specials on TV.

Halfway through, his phone buzzed, and he shoved himself up off the couch to search for wherever he’d thrown it last night.

 

\--

Steve was on the roof of his apartment building, curled up against the stairwell. He usually went up there to think, but he underestimated the strength of the wind (and his own body heat). He glanced miserably down at the little message on his phone.

**_Bucky Barnes_ ** _is unable for video chat. Try again later._

Steve groaned and put his phone back in his pocket, ready to give up and just go back inside, but a moment later his phone rang and he pulled it out, tapping accept when he saw that it was Bucky.

“Hey, sorry, my phone was under my mattress.” The brunet smiled into the camera, but his eyes looked a little haunted.

“’S fine,” Steve said, chuckling. A gust of wind nearly took the phone from his hands, and he went to open the door, to find that it had locked behind him. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter?” Bucky asked, shifting forward and eating a few pieces of popcorn.

“Nothing, I just… I locked myself outside my apartment.”

“Jesus, Stevie, it’s cold out.”

Steve nearly cried at the way Bucky could still call him “Stevie” so easily and try to take care of him still. “Yeah, no shit.”

“You still live in the same apartment?”

“…Yeah?”

“Okay. Be there in five minutes.”

“What? Buck—“ Steve began, but the call had already ended. He sighed and crouched back down against the door, drawing his knees to his chest and bundling his hands up in his thin jacket.

A moment later, a thick drop of rain landed on his knee, and he looked up in time to see the dark grey sky begin to rain.

A little under five minutes later, the door opened inward behind him, and Steve fell into the enclosing. A metal hand extended toward him, and he used it to stand up. “Thanks,” Steve said, shivering a little.

“You’re soaking!” Bucky immediately took off his coat and put it around Steve’s shoulders. It reached all the way down to the shorter man’s thighs.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, teeth chattering. Bucky handed him a Styrofoam cup. “Ah, jeez, Bucky, you didn’t have to…” Steve took a sip, grateful nonetheless. “Pumpkin spice, huh?”

Bucky grinned. “It is Autumn.”

They walked down the staircase, Steve’s trainers squelching on the floor. “That reminds me—the reason why I called you in the first place is because you’ve been invited to Tony’s Halloween party, on the 28th. Jarvis said that the old number he had didn’t work anymore, and I told him I’d give you a call.”

“Oh.” Bucky looked down, and they stopped in front of the elevator as Steve pressed the button. “I mean… not that I wouldn’t want to go… I just. I don’t. I don’t know if I’m ready to see everyone again yet, Steve. I mean, it was great seeing you, but you’re… my best friend.” He said that last part so quietly that Steve wasn’t sure if he’d just imagined that or not. It felt good, that he could still be considered that, that Bucky coming back could maybe mean that things would go back to how they were before.

Steve smiled and stepped inside as the doors opened, pressing the button for his floor. “I understand. Tony’s parties are always a bit wild anyway. If you don’t want to go, we could always just stay in, watch Hocus Pocus.” He nearly cringed at the way he made it an ‘us’ thing… if Bucky didn’t want to go to Tony’s party, then he probably just wanted to be alone.

But the ex-assassin just smiled, waiting for Steve to exit the elevator first. “Thanks, Stevie. That sounds nice. I’ll think about it.”

Steve walked to his apartment, Bucky following him. He paused outside his door, fishing his key out of his pocket. He didn’t quite know whether it would be okay to invite Bucky in or not. “Uh… I was maybe thinking that if you didn’t have anything more important to do today… we could maybe watch TV? Or something. I have a few board games, or—“

“Sure,” Bucky said, cutting him off, and turned the knob of Steve’s door, which swung open. “Unlocked. I came here first, when you said you were locked outside your apartment, then figured you meant the roof,” he explained. He held the door open, and Steve went in.

“I’m just gonna change into some dry clothes… you can, um, find a good channel. Remote’s on the couch.” Steve tossed Bucky his jacket and shut his bedroom door behind him.

 

\--

Bucky breathed for a moment, just taking in the fact that here he was, standing in the middle of their old apartment. Steve hadn’t changed it much, except for the fact that the hundreds of picture frames commemorating all their dates had been swapped out for other things. It was relatively tidy, with stacks of paper or books or magazines on every surface. Bucky walked over to the writing desk in the corner and lifted the front cover of a manila folder to see a drawing of a man. It was very good, and dated last night. He turned on the lamp sitting next to the pencils.

Actually, in strong light, it looked quite a bit like him.

It might very well be him.

Bucky turned over the drawing to see the next one, which was absolutely him. It was a sketch from the side, showing off his profile. He was looking down, and Steve had made his eyelashes quite long. Were they really that long, Bucky asked himself? The next one was a sitting pose, and there was the sweater he’d worn yesterday. All the pictures were dated to last night. It seemed, that after Steve had gotten home, he’d drawn three very good, very detailed charcoal sketches of Bucky.

Bucky heard a drawer shut from the other room, and he quickly put the folder back in place. He went over to the sofa and sat down, putting on the TV and snapping along to Addams Family.

Steve came in the room, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and it was so simple that it could have been seventy years ago (Steve was even the right size for it). He gave Bucky a nervous smile and sat next to him on the couch.

“Feel better now that you’re not soaking?”

“Absolutely.” It was silent for a moment more, then Steve and Bucky began to speak at the same time. “Do you…”

“I was… Oh, you go ahead.”

“Uh, I was just wondering if you wanted any snacks. For the…” Steve gestured at the TV.

“Yeah, thanks.” Bucky wasn’t particularly _hungry_ , especially since he’d just eaten about twenty minutes ago, but it would give him something to do while he watched TV. His hands always became so restless.

Steve came back a moment later with chips, a slice of apple pie, and an assortment of pre-Halloween candy.

“Wow, thanks,” Bucky said when Steve handed him the pie, placing the other things on the coffee table between the sofa and the TV.

“Uh… do you mind… if I draw you? Haven’t sketched in a while,” Steve lied.

“No, go ahead. Do you want me to pose?” Bucky asked, shifting himself into a sketch-worthy position.

“No, no, you’re fine right there.” Steve picked up his pad and pencils from the writing desk, then sat on the other end of the couch, sketching out a rough frame.

It had been a while since anyone had watched Bucky like that, but he quickly remembered how it felt to have those artist eyes on him. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, and he let himself relax, just watching Wednesday be generally amazing and slowly decimating all the snacks laid out on the table.

About an hour later, he realised he was quite full as he tapped the crumbs out of the bag of chips. He was still dealing with shrunken pants, and after his small feast they had become even tighter. He tried to subtly shift to one side while wiggling the waistband down, and when he glanced back over at Steve to see if he’d noticed, his blue eyes were fixed on Bucky’s lap. Fuck.

He snapped his head back to the show, watching for a few more minutes. Then he heard Steve sigh.

“I’m done, but I don’t think I’m satisfied.”

“Let me see.” Bucky reached for the pad.

“No!” Steve snatched it away. “Not until it’s perfect!”

Bucky laughed a little. “Aw, c’mon Stevie, I’m sure it’s great.” This was familiar territory for him. He remembered how much fun they had, play-fighting. He reached out for it with his metal arm, but Steve snatched it away, still quick. Bucky grinned and crawled forward a bit, resting his weight on his arms either side of Steve, crowding over him. He seemed so small, so fragile.

 

\--

Steve was devastated. In the best way, obviously. First of all, Bucky was in his apartment (which used to be _their_ apartment), on his sofa, eating his food (a LOT of food), so soft, so warm and comfortable. Secondly, he was letting Steve _draw_ him again (and he missed drawing him, so, so much in those nine long months). Thirdly, he was currently right on top of Steve, trying to see the sketch (which was considerably celebratory of Bucky’s new weight gain, and the longer Bucky wasn’t aware of it, the longer it would stick around), with his _big soft warm belly hanging down, brushing Steve’s knees._

Steve watched as Bucky’s expression turned from playful to surprised at how close their bodies were.

 _Closer,_ Steve’s head cried.

So he put an arm around Bucky’s neck and pulled him closer, pulled him down until he was resting fully on Steve, his metal arm cupping the right side of Steve’s face, and pulled him into the kiss. He tasted like everything Steve had been dying for when he was alone, everything he chased in Sharon, everything he was to Steve and how they could never be just friends.

Bucky pulled away first, gaze flicking to either of Steve’s eyes. “Steve… are you sure you want to do this, I mean we—“

“I don’t give a fuck,” Steve growled, and pulled Bucky back down. It was incredible, feeling the pressure of his lover on top of him, feeling his warm, soft, impossibly round gut press into him (and then something else was pressing into him too; something urgent and demanding). Steve smirked and snaked his hand down (brushing past Bucky’s chubby waist, and oh god he wanted to grab on, but he couldn’t, because in Bucky’s mind there was nothing to be grabbed onto), palming the other’s erection. “Want me to take care of that for you?”

“Fuck yes,” Bucky panted, taking his pants off and tossing them on the floor.

Steve laughed a little. “I mean, we can do it on the couch, but I’ve got lube in the bedroom, and it might be more comfortable.”

Bucky nodded, hardly processing what Steve was saying, his pupils dilated so much the grey-blue was just a small ring. Steve pulled him to the bed, shucking off his own shirt and tossing it to the floor.

“God, Stevie… you’re so…” Bucky cut himself off, eyes fixed on Steve’s chest.

“Go ahead, it’s okay.” Steve took Bucky’s hands and put them on his torso. “I know it’s different. You can touch.”

Bucky’s hands spread around Steve’s ribs, fingering his nipples, thumb playing at his collarbone.

Steve took his jeans off, naked underneath, and then all of his emaciated body is on display for Bucky.

But the brunet didn’t seem to mind at all. “You cocky little shit, you knew you were getting fucked,” Bucky said in response to Steve’s lack of underwear.

“Hoped,” Steve replied, putting his legs over Bucky’s shoulders. “Put it in, I’m ready.”

Bucky shot him a concerned look. “You sure you want to bottom? I don’t want to crush you.”

Steve nearly came right then, but he realised Bucky probably meant Steve’s smallness, not Bucky’s own largeness. “Yes, you’re not going to, I promise.”

Bucky pulled his boxers down, lining up with Steve’s hole and pushing inside. Steve cried out and grabbed onto Bucky’s shoulders. He knew that the brunet would probably take it slow, and not want to bottom out too quickly and hurt Steve, but this was the first time something was going up Steve’s ass other than something plastic in nine months, and he just wanted to feel Bucky in him. He clamped onto the other’s shoulders, and pulled him in the full way. “Sh-shit, _Steve,_ I didn’t mean to—ah fuck!” Bucky exclaimed. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s bony back and set pace, rolling out his hips, his stomach pressing into Steve in tandem.

Steve came first, dick tripped in between his stomach and Bucky’s, screaming the brunet’s name as he fisted his hands in the other’s hair. Bucky took a little longer, pulling out and finishing on Steve’s chest. Bucky rolled off Steve and laid next to him, panting. Steve watched his tummy heave with his heavy breaths for a moment, then rolled over on top of him to give him slow, lazy kisses.

Finally he dragged himself off Bucky, and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. He brought back a damp washcloth and gave it to Bucky. The larger man had kept his shirt on during sex, but while Steve was in the bathroom, he’d taken the come-stained garment off and tossed it on the floor. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, and he stood next to the bed, watching Bucky in his post-orgasm bliss, eyes dancing with cosmic wonder. He looked so satisfied, so _soft_ , so _full._

He smiled when he saw Steve staring. “Like what you see?”

Steve grinned. “Fuck yeah.” He joined him back on the bed and cuddled into his side.

Bucky frowned a little. “Wish I had a cigarette.”

“Could I interest you in some post-coital lunch?” Steve asked, checking the time on his phone.

Bucky’s face lit back up. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> For iwritetheweirdstuff's Trick Or Treat Yourself 2016 challenge!  
> Find me on Tumblr at star-thief :3


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